And as Bostil heard that voice he trembled. What was the thing he meant to do?
A thousand thoughts assailed him in answer and none were clear. A chill passed
over him. Suddenly he felt that the cold stole up from his feet. They were
both in the water. He pulled them out and, bending down, watched the dim, dark
line of water. It moved up and up, inch by inch, swiftly. The river was on the
rise!
Bostil leaped up. He seemed possessed of devils. A rippling hot gash of blood
fired his every vein and tremor after tremor shook him.
"By G---d! I had it right--she's risin'!" he exclaimed, hoarsely.
He stared in fascinated certainty at the river. All about it and pertaining to
it had changed. The murmur and moan changed to a low, sullen roar. The music
was gone. The current chafed at its rock-bound confines. Here was an uneasy,
tormented, driven river! The light from the stars shone on dark, glancing,
restless waters, uneven and strange. And while Bostil watched, whether it was
a short time or long, the remorseless, destructive nature of the river showed
itself.
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